


Independent Minds

by manic_intent



Series: Independent Minds [1]
Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Imperial!Yang Wen-li, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, That omegaverse AU where Yang has to find a heat partner, but it's all too troublesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21955588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: “Will you just saysomething,” Senior Admiral Oskar von Reuenthal growled, ten minutes and thirty seconds into bedding the second-greatest military strategist of their generation.“Heats are such an immense waste of time,” said the slender man with dark tousled hair who was currently sprawled in Reuenthal’s bed with his pale thighs pushed open.
Relationships: Oskar von Reuenthal/Yang Wenli
Series: Independent Minds [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1609534
Comments: 8
Kudos: 118





	Independent Minds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beingevil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beingevil/gifts).



> Thought I would read 1 (one) of the LOGH books for context because I was going to the cafe with a friend later this week and ended up binge-reading all 10 books very quickly. So. Merry Christmas to @beingevil :)
> 
> A disclaimer: I haven’t watched the anime and tbh I don’t generally have the time or patience to watch tv anything so, the spelling and details etc will mostly follow the books, except that I won’t be tacking “von” to the front of the names in reference and I think ‘Reuenthal’ looks better than ‘Reuentahl’… 
> 
> For people reading this fic without LOGH context, it’s a tactical space opera about a war between the forces of benevolent Imperial dictatorship vs a sack-of-cats Alliance democracy. Yang Wen-li is actually from the Alliance in the books.

“Will you just say _something_ ,” Senior Admiral Oskar von Reuenthal growled, ten minutes and thirty seconds into bedding the second-greatest military strategist of their generation. 

“Heats are such an immense waste of time,” said the slender man with dark tousled hair who was currently sprawled in Reuenthal’s bed with his pale thighs pushed open. Two of Reuenthal’s fingers were already pressed within the tight, wet sleeve of his body, but Senior Admiral Yang Wen-li’s only response to that had been a slight flush climbing up his throat. 

Reuenthal let out a snort. A lesser alpha would have been insulted, or at the least become aggressive. If he’d been anything of the sort, Reuenthal suspected that Yang wouldn’t be here, stretched out before him like an offering. Yang “The Magician” Wen-li was the only omega Admiral in Duke Reinhard von Lohengramm’s Imperial fleet, a position he had carved for himself because of his tendency to conjure impossible victories out of thin air. Not that promotion or power seemed to be of any interest to Yang, a character trait that his detractors tended to blame on his omega nature. Reuenthal knew better. Under the Duke, with power came more responsibilities. That meant more work, and Yang was by far the laziest person Reuenthal had ever met. 

“If this isn’t to your taste,” Reuenthal said, pointedly grinding his fingers in to the knuckles, “say so, and I’ll leave.” 

“Hmm.” Yang closed his eyes, though he did arch into Reuenthal’s touch. “That would cause me even more trouble. Medical’s already upset that I used experimental suppressants. I need to have this heat, and going through a heat without an alpha is a pain.” 

“You could’ve picked someone else,” Reuenthal said. He was a serial philanderer: everyone in the fleet knew that. Had Yang not been of equal rank to him—had he not been the Duke’s Magician—Reuenthal would’ve tried to flirt with him before. Reuenthal knew he cut a striking figure for an alpha. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome enough, with dark hair and heterochromatic eyes. His popularity with omegas in the fleet and in court was sufficient testament to the fact. 

Yang, though—Yang had never appeared remotely interested in Reuenthal, or in any of the other alphas in the fleet. Even in Duke Reinhard himself, golden lion as he was. For the longest time, Reuenthal had thought that Yang was asexual. “You could’ve picked Reinhard,” Reuenthal said. 

That got Yang to glance up at him with amusement. “Would you have preferred me to pick the Duke?” 

“It would’ve been a sound political move.” Reuenthal carefully pressed in another finger as Yang’s body opened up reluctantly for him. “He would’ve married you.” 

Yang grimaced. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life picking blonde hair out of my clothes.” 

Throwing out left-of-field answers to avoid a question that he felt was too troublesome to answer was typically Yang: Reuenthal was seldom phased by them now. He laughed. “Is that why you chose me?”

Yang huffed. “Fine. If you really want to know… Statistically, I thought you’d be the most efficient. Because of your reputation and experience.” 

Reuenthal was speechless, a rarity for him. “That is the worst reason anyone’s given for sleeping with me,” he said after a long moment. 

“You deserved it—you’re the one who wanted to know,” Yang said. His mouth twitched up into a wry grin that was utterly unrepentant, and he made a show of looking at the clock. “Come on then. I have things to do.” 

“Like drinking brandy huddled in your quarters, trying and failing to write your book?” Reuenthal pulled out his slicked fingers and wiped them over Yang’s flat belly. That got him a mildly reproachful stare, and Yang twisted his chin to a side as Reuenthal tried to lean in for a kiss. Fingers curled lightly into Reuenthal’s hair in a silent warning, but when he growled, Yang grudgingly let Reuenthal brush a kiss over his throat. Reuenthal grazed his teeth over Yang’s unmarked skin, breathing in musk and sweat.

“Don’t look lightly on my literary ambitions. The Duke was the one who asked me to write a book. About tactics or whatever,” Yang said, his voice blandly steady. 

“I doubt that he used such tentative language.” Duke Reinhard was nothing if precise. “What about Schönkopf? He has a similar reputation,” Reinhard said, naming the commander of the Yang fleet’s specialised fighting unit, the Rosen Ritter. 

“A subordinate? That’d make even more trouble for me. Besides, I also thought that you’d be the least sentimental,” Yang said. Reuenthal looked up sharply, but Yang wore only the same abstract amusement over his soft-angled face. “So far, I’m surprised. I thought you’d be all business.” 

“If I make this unpleasant for you, you might be slower about rescuing me if I get myself into a pinch,” Reuenthal said. It was a joke—as one of the Twin Ramparts of the fleet, Reuenthal was a gifted strategist in his own right, one who had never needed rescuing. 

Yang sniffed, not even bothering to answer the quip in kind. His fingers drifted to the back of Reuenthal’s neck and tugged, in an assertiveness that would’ve felt out of place to anyone unfamiliar with this often-distracted man who looked more like a scholar than a soldier. Reuenthal snorted and bit Yang on the shoulder, hard enough that Yang flinched and yelped. He would not be commanded. Not even by a man like this, a man like no one Reuenthal had ever met, someone both simple and complex, made of one delicious contradiction after another. Yang breathed out and arched as Reuenthal pushed into him, digging his blunt fingertips into Reuenthal’s back. That was the only noise he made, even as Reuenthal began to move, rocking carefully into tight flesh. Yang went still, though his breathing grew shallow as Reuenthal thrust a little deeper. 

That unsettled Reuenthal. He’d been with omegas in heat before, and while he’d been able to control the worst of his rut himself, the omega was usually a wailing, scratching mess at this point, hungry for satiation. Yang just looked… “Don’t tell me you’re bored,” Reuenthal said. His rut tore his voice rough with menace, a tone that would make many—omega and alpha alike—cringe and grow wary. 

“There _are_ a hundred other things I’d rather be doing,” Yang conceded, though he smiled faintly and closed his eyes. “Can’t you go any faster?”

“See if I ever help you with this again,” Reuenthal said, though he obliged, lifting Yang’s hips to meet his as he shoved deeper. Blood and bloodlust began to sing through his veins as he gave a grudging inch to instinct and lust, snapping his hips harder against the body he held, until Yang was arching against him, fingers digging into the sheets as he panted. This was still one of the worst lays Reuenthal had ever had with an omega in heat, and yet—and yet, as Yang hissed his name and twitched up his chin to bare his throat, Reuenthal snarled. His control slipped a fraction out of his grasp. Reuenthal bent to sink his teeth into the inviting stretch of pale skin and yelped as Yang twisted under him, biting him hard on his neck just above where his uniform collar would sit. Harder than Reuenthal had bitten him, at that. Yang had drawn blood. 

“Again with your underhanded tactics,” Reuenthal breathed, forced between jagged gasps. 

“You deserved that too,” Yang said, and curled a leg around Reuenthal’s waist. “Now. Faster.”

#

Yang’s heat broke early with an alpha’s knot lodged inside him. Not that he was remotely grateful: he grumbled, squirmed constantly, and frowned as Reuenthal lost patience and pinned him to the bed. “You could’ve done this in a more comfortable position,” Yang complained.

“ _I’m_ comfortable,” Reuenthal said mercilessly. “Stay still. It’ll be down in ten minutes. Or do you so desperately wish to get away from me?” 

He hadn’t meant to say that. That was the problem with sex: messy as it was, it sometimes loosened his tongue. It made him caustic where others were tender, bitter where others were gentle. It had driven bedmates of all stripes away before, turned them pale and silent with their eyes fixed on the door. 

Yang merely laughed and stretched, still trying to wriggle into a comfortable spot. “I wish. You’re a colleague. If I wanted to get away from you, I’d have to defect to the FPA-Phezzanese Conglomerate.” 

Mittermeier would’ve grimaced and warned Yang to watch what he said, but Reuenthal had said far more seditious things before. Usually when into his cups. “I’d like to see you do that. Assassinations, bribery, kidnappings… that’s hardly your style.” Distasteful as Alliance tactics were of late, they had little choice. Especially when the balance of military talent was so lopsided in the Duke's favour. 

Yang mumbled something and went quiet, closing his eyes and going still. As Reuenthal managed to manoeuvre them into a comfortable position, his knot eased, slipping out in a rush of slick and fluids. Yang made a face and wriggled free, striding over to the shower. Reuenthal didn’t bother to dress, watching from the bed when Yang emerged, briskly buttoning up his clothes. Once, Reuenthal would’ve welcomed the silence that had grown as a bubble all around him and a lover, but with Yang, it felt oddly oppressive. 

“Yang,” Reuenthal said. Yang glanced up at him. “I assume you’re on birth control?” 

Yang looked amused. “What a romantic thing to say. I’m amazed that you aren’t more popular.” 

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.” Reuenthal wasn’t fit to be a father, he wanted to say—but that was something he’d only ever confessed to Mittermeier, his closest friend. 

“Well,” Yang said, after a pause, “as the Duke’s fond of telling me whenever I try to resign my commission, we don’t live in a democracy. You don’t get to have a vote.” 

“Yang,” Reuenthal tried again, but under that steady stare, no better words could find easy purchase. 

“Relax. Children would be the most troublesome complication of all. Good night. Thanks for the help.” Yang inclined his head politely and backed away to the door, letting himself out. 

Rubbing a hand over his face, Reuenthal cursed under his breath. He couldn’t help feeling like he’d just been outmanoeuvred. Again.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: @manic_intent  
> my writing and prompt policy: manic-intent.tumblr.com


End file.
